


John, The Mastermind

by theRougeChevalier



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, John as the Mastermind, M/M, one shots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-02
Updated: 2013-12-02
Packaged: 2018-01-03 05:46:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1066553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theRougeChevalier/pseuds/theRougeChevalier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Moriarty is just a stand in, an act? Who is the real puppet master and why does he do it?  </p><p>If you like a one shot let me know and I might expand it.<br/>Betaed by greenkangaroo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	John, The Mastermind

There were two ways the next few minutes could go. One would end this game, and the other would take it to the next level. I had a plan either way. It was really a win-win situation as far as I was concerned. 

 

As I strode from the lockers with a slow and careful footing and my eyes fell on Sherlock’s face. The look, the look of shock, the quick flash of betrayal, oh but it was delicious. The look one only received by getting one over on the illustrious Sherlock Holmes. The look was rare and very few could boast to have seen it, but I feasted upon it decadently. 

 

‘I wonder what other unusual expressions I can get the unflappable Sherlock Holmes to make?...’ 

 

“This is quite the turn up isn’t it Sherlock?” I said slowly, “Bet you didn’t ...see this... coming.” I had to stop myself from smirking. The look on Sherlock’s face was so shell shocked; that look told me my next move. I had to keep playing the game. if I didn’t? Well I could tell the fun would be over for good, and I couldn’t have that. 

 

“What would you like me to make him say next?” I said slowly metered out revealing the semtex under my jacket. 

 

I rattled off a tongue twister until Sherlock shouted for me to stop. And then out he walked perfectly on cue, but that is what he was paid for. Richard Brooks is a great actor. Unfortunately for him his career was stunted by his myriad of mental problems. Unfortunate for him, yes- but lucky for me. The poor man sought only approval and that I was more than willing to give. 

 

It was safe to say he hero worshipped me, but then again it was a bit nice to have a blindly loyal stooge, even if he had to be kept a close eye on due to his manic moods that bordered a little close to multiple personality disorder, but John was a doctor after all. So he listened closely as Richard played the part of ‘James Moriarty’ beautifully. It might be considered risky perhaps to put myself directly in the line of fire, but this was how the game had to go. 

 

This glorious, glorious game. 

 

It had been going on for so long and yet it never grew boring. When I was invalided home from Afghanistan I thought I might die of boredom. In my youth I had played the mob families and the cartels like dueling symphonies against one another to keep myself from becoming bored. The game grew too hot after a time and although I fed on the danger, I had no desire to end up in jail. 

 

Admittedly I had been younger and foolish then. Still, laying low was too dull for my mind to endure. I went to medical school and played the part of the mild mannered John Watson, aspiring healer. I signed up to join the war effort and the battlefield was more than I dreamed it could ever be. Never dull, always dangerous, and in the off hours I could play my little games back home from a distance, using the pseudonym of James Moriarty. It was all so perfect. 

 

too perfect. The ever present danger became stunningly real and I found myself lying in a hospital bed with a bullet wound in my shoulder….boring. 

 

Suddenly all I had to fall back on were my little games as James Moriarty, consulting criminal. I had been spoiled by the war and how hands on I could be with the danger. Now simply sitting behind a computer screen or texting instructions to minions and peons held no interest for me. 

 

Call me what you will- strategist, opportunist, mastermind, soldier, doctor, devil incarnate. I’ve heard most of them at least second hand. At my base I can admit that I’m merely an adrenaline junky always seeking my next hit. Thus why wearing a semtex jacket was no real hardship. 

 

As a young man my sister had often lamented to me “If only you used your powers for good instead of evil Johnny.” 

 

Good or evil meant little to me. I had proved my capacity for both with my time in the Royal Army. My concern, then and now, was keeping my mind engaged. I had thought my life boring beyond repair upon my return to London until...Sherlock Holmes. 

 

It had been a serendipitous meeting , seeing Mike Stamford in the park and taking the trip to Bart’s in hopes of finding a new flatmate, anything to alleviate the boredom. I wasn’t disappointed. The moment I clapped eyes on him I knew he was something else and he didn’t disappoint. 

 

Yes I had been the one to bankroll Jeff Hope’s little killing spree. I had never imagined that the police would have someone like Sherlock Holmes on the rolls investigating it, but that made it all the more interesting. 

 

Originally it had all been done as a favor to a desperate man which would at most result in widespread panic. I had hoped perhaps for enough of a fuss to cause quarantining of some goods and services. The cause of the killings had been a charitable donation, but my motivations for the results of this little project were purely economical. Then came Sherlock Holmes. He put the pieces together so finely and fingered it a serial killer long before it could be mistaken for anything else, the brilliant bastard. 

 

Watching him work was a high the likes of which I had never experienced and I was more than happy to run along side him, to trail along on his coattails. It was more fun than I had had in ages. More fun even than Afghanistan if you can believe it. 

 

I had not instructed Jeff Hope to take Sherlock, no; that the clever man did on his own seeing Sherlock as a threat to his money tree, shooting him was no great hardship. Neither was his revealing of my pseudonym. In fact that just seemed to whet Sherlock’s appetite. From that moment on my every moment was absorbed with Sherlock, if I wasn’t chasing him around the city on a case I was arranging puzzles for him to solve. 

 

He was always surprising me, even when he was frustrating me. I couldn’t find it in myself to hate or loathe him, in fact most of my frustration regarding Sherlock was that of the sexual variety. 

 

Three continents Watson as I was known in the military had had his fair share of sexual adventures with men and women alike, but no one made me want like Sherlock did. I wanted him on every level. I wanted his camaraderie, his adventurous lifestyle, his maddening mind, and his lean graceful physique in my bed. 

 

But Sherlock is married to the work, so I had to bide my time and wait for the right opportunity, trying hard to conceal my obvious lust and dare I say it, affection for the flawed genius that was Sherlock Holmes. The hardest thing however was never letting on how smart I was, what a pair we could be then. 

 

Although most thought we made quite the pair as we were, the consulting detective and his blogging side kick. I don’t mind the arrangement that much, but the time had come to assess the situation and perhaps raise the stakes. 

 

That’s what brought us to our current charade. 

 

Richard Brooks played his part beautifully, but it was my performance that was key to getting the information I really wanted. 

 

I take my chance and wrap my arm around Richard’s neck. “Sherlock Run!” 

 

The look in Sherlock’s eyes. It was only an instant, not enough to confirm, but….

 

“If your sniper lets off his shot Mr. Moriarty we both go up.” 

 

“I see why you keep this one around, so touchingly loyal, just like a good pet.” 

 

That look was back and his jaw had clenched. I couldn’t call it conclusive, but…

 

After the obligatory threats were made, Richard took his leave. Sherlock stripped my coat from me along with the semtex. 

 

“John, Are you alright? John?” 

 

“I’m fine, I’m alright...Sherlock….no I’m not.” 

 

“What you did before, that was….good.” Ah yes. 

 

I made a quip about being caught stripping my clothes off in a dark pool and Sherlock joined in with his own witty repartee. We laughed. It was promising. 

 

After Richard’s brief return to test Sherlock’s resolve, Sherlock’s response both frightening and embarrassingly arousing. I pushed the button for the call that “changes Moriarty’s mind.” Because indeed I had gathered all the evidence I need. 

 

Tonight had been about gauging Sherlock and planning my next move. Whether there is a chance for him to come around to me willingly or if I have to physically step into the role of the foe and force his hand creating a new power structure that will likely end with me taking what I want by force, but...it would seem you do get more flies with honey than with vinegar….

 

What this little tableau has revealed is that Sherlock’s feelings for me run deep, how deep or to what end is a mystery still, but deep enough that it is possible for me to woo him; not in the traditional sense, no, but woo his mind and deepen our connection. Oh but the man is quite the puzzle and I do so love a person whom I don’t have to bend to my will. 

 

We will make an unstoppable pair.

 

I will give him an enemy and be his hero, his light in the darkness and he will come to me willingly and one day when the manufactured enemy is gone and the boredom returns I can reveal my true genius and mould him to my ways and together….together well there is nothing Sherlock and I won’t be able to do. 

 

That day is a long way off regardless, I find myself in Sherlock’s company an infinitely patient man, and this journey will never be dull.


End file.
